A Dog Named Pineapple
by Captain Rika Kisuktai
Summary: Shawn Spencer went missing three months ago while driving home from his father's. Lassiter seems to be getting stressed out,for he begins to hear voices. More importantly, a certain voice from a certain "psychic". And where did the fluffy puppy come from?
1. Chapter 1

Right. This story won't leave me alone! It's been driving me crazy, and Chibi!Shawn has been jabbering away in my eyes. Ears! Jabbering away in my ears! Gosh darn it, now I can't even type right!

Chibi!Shawn- Hee hee...

Don't make carry out my cross-over idea and shoot you! Right between the eyes, remember?!

Chibi!Shawn- Shutting up now...

That's what I thought. Anyways, I thought this through a lot. Hopefully, I'll be able to go past three chapters on this.

**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters in this. Just the plot. MY PLOT! MY PLOT! MY PLOT!

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Detective Carlton Lassiter was suffering. Absolute anguish as he was confined within the walls of his home. How the _hell _was he supposed to survive the next four days? No, scratch that- What the hell was he supposed to _do_? He still couldn't believe that Chief Vicks told him to not come into work. He could still hear her voice and the tired look on her face as she told both he and his assistant, Juliet O'Hara, the same thing that morning.

_"You two are getting too worked up on this case. I want him found as much as you, but we have absolutely no leads. This case is wearing you two away, and I can't have that. You've been working hard for three straight months. You need rest. I don't want you to come into work for the next four days. If I need you, I'll call. You're dismissed."_

Lassiter sighed, burying his face in his hands. A little voice that resided at the back of his mind said that she was right. The corner of his eye twitched as the little voice (who had decided to pop up almost immediately after the case began, and he dubbed it Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head) continued: You're a work-a-holic, and this case has been eating you from the inside out for three months. Why? Because Jules misses him. The Chief misses him. Hell, even _you _miss him, and that's saying something, Lassie.

He uncovered his eyes, but kept his hands on his face as the little voice finished. He lifted his head slightly to look at the cork board he had put on his wall when he became Head Detective of the Santa Barbra Police Department. He could almost remember a time when there were mug-shots of various suspects of various the cases he had been assigned to. But now, instead of men who looked like they would rather punch you in the face then say "Hello", there was but a single picture framed by notes he had pinned with any information he had found, the facts scrawled in Lassiter's thin handwriting. He didn't have to even look at the notes anymore to know what they said. He had ended up memorizing them after looking at them every day.

_Missing Person. Last seen leaving father's house March 3rd at 19:01 hours._

_Last seen wearing brown leather jacket, slightly battered, green collared shirt, denim jeans._

_Left on motorcycle w/helmet. Motorcycle found five miles away from father's house, helmet not found._

_Signs of small scuffle around discovery sight._

_All known rivals/enemies interrogated. All had solid alibis, therefore all dropped._

_No suspects._

Lassiter sighed, looking at the picture of the missing man. The hazel eyes, the cocky smirk...he could almost imagine his voice: "_You still haven't found me? Jeez, Lassie. What's keeping you?"_

"Shut up, Spencer!" Carlton snapped, breaking the silence in his house. He immediately regretted the instinctive response to the imaginary voice. He sighed as he realized that Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head was right.

He missed the voice of that damned "psychic", Shawn Spencer.

He dazed through the rest of the day, not certain of what he should do. It wasn't very often he had time to himself, even less often when he was _forced _to have time to himself. He'd cleaned his house spotless (he had been neglecting it for some time) and went shopping; he'd mowed the lawn and watered his shrubs...what else was there honestly to do?

He plopped back down on his sofa and looked around his house again, trying to avoid looking at the cork board posted on his wall. He leaned back and rested his head on the top of the sofa after finding nothing else to do and glued his eyes to the ceiling. After a few moments, his eyes fluttered close, and he found himself slipping off into sleep.

~*~

Carlton's eyes snapped open as his house phone started ringing. His mind felt fuzzy and he stood up and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't exactly recall what he'd been dreaming about, but the emotions he had felt were still buzzing around in his head: pained confusion, extreme skeptism, and then utter terror. What kind of dream could make him feel like that after he had woken up? He pondered the question briefly as he walked over to his kitchen and answered the phone.

"Hello?" he asked, rubbing his head in a vain attempt to stop the after-math dream feelings.

"Hello, Carlton," he recognized the tired voice of Henry Spencer. His chest tightened as a feeling of failure thudded through him. He knew why the retired police officer had called. It had been the same call since the Chief classified the case as "Missing Person".

"Hello, Henry. How are you?" Carlton tried to ask casually, but his voice end up sounding how he felt: tired. There was a small rush of static as Henry sighed.

"I'm still alive, if that's anything," he gave a dry laugh. There was a pause as Carlton waited for the question. The question that had first been in a grumbling and irritated tone, then had quickly crumbled into worry, and then desperation. But the last few weeks it had been a hollow sounding question, like it was asked purely out of habit.

"Is there any news?" There is was, and once again, Carlton's chest tightened as the feeling of failure shot through him. He shook his head, not caring if Henry couldn't see him.

"No sir. Still nothing." There was an awkward silence over the phone as Carlton waited for a response from the other man. There was another small rush of static and Henry Spencer cleared his throat.

"Right...Thanks..."

There was a click, and the other man hung up. Carlton sighed and put his phone back on his receiver. He blearily looked at the clock and realized that it was past the normal time that he went to bed. No wonder he was so tired. He was ready for a good, long nine hours of sleep...

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And yes, the title has a purpose for being what it is. That will be explained later.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow. I didn't expect that many reviews in such a short time. Huh.

Anyways, I'm working on chapter three right now, but it might take a while with school (HELL) and what-not.

**Disclaimer: I doth not own any characters in thy story. Just thine plot. TIS MY PLOT! **

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Carlton stood on the beach, looking at the sun begin to paint it's red and pink masterpiece across the morning sky. The waves lapped gently at the shore, stopping mere inches from his shoes. A strange sense of familiarity wormed it's way into his head, and he realized that he had seen this before. Not from this exact spot, but from a further distance. He turned around and, sure enough, he could spot the bench he sat on when Vicks suspended him and he had to stay at the Psych office...

Why was he here? he suddenly wondered. Most of his dreams were about him solving cases and being promoted, so why was he suddenly on the beach?

"Maybe it's trying to tell you something," Carlton jumped at the voice, which belonged to a young boy that had appeared at his side. Where did he come from? He couldn't have been much older than ten years old, and his short chocolate brown hair topped at Carlton's elbow. He was staring out over the water much like Carlton was doing moments before. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were narrowed, like he was trying to figure something out. He was actually kinda cute.

"Oh really?" Carlton said, raising his eyebrows. "Like what?" The boy shrugged.

"I dunno. Just thought I'd something all fill-esophagus." Carlton blinked.

"Philosophical?" The boy nodded, then shrugged, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "I've heard it both ways..."

Carlton gave him a strange look as the boy sat down, pulling his knees to chest and putting his arms on his knees. He still had a look of concentration on his face, as he stared at the sun. Carlton realized that the sun hadn't really moved in the time that he'd been standing there.

"It's a dream. The sun doesn't have to move if you don't want it to," the boy said, his voice slightly muffled due to the fact his arms were slightly covering his mouth as he concentrated on whatever it was he was concentrating on.

Carlton carefully sat down next to the boy, watching him out of the corner of his eye. That sense of familiarity came back to him, but this time, he couldn't figure out why. He'd never seen this child before. Had he? He was sure he hadn't. So why did he feel like the boy was a long lost friend?

"You need a puppy," the boy suddenly said, picking his head up. Carlton looked at the boy, saying the first coherent thing that came to his mind.

"...What?"

"A puppy. You know: four legs, tail, furry, man's best friend? Absolutely adorable?"

"I know _what _a puppy is," he restrained himself from yelling at the child. "Why would I get one?"

"Didn't you just hear me? They're adorable! And to be honest, you _really _need to lighten up a bit. You're too uptight."

"And how exactly do you know that?" Carlton said through gritted teeth at the boy sitting next to him. The boy turned to face him, looking him in the eyes.

"Your muscles are really tight, and you haven't stopped grinding your teeth since I started talking," the boy paused, tilting his head slightly. "And for some reason, I think that you grit your teeth _every _time I start talking."

"What do you mean 'every time I start talking'? I've never seen you before in my life," Carlton said.

"Dreams are weird like that," the boy shrugged. "For all you know, I could be the result of stress from whatever case you're working on. Or were, before the Chief told you not to come in for a few days."

"How did you..." Lassiter trailed off as the boy stood up and dusted the sand off of his jeans. In the second that it had taken him to stand up, he went from the form of a boy to the form of Shawn Spencer. Lassiter scrambled to get up, his heart thudding in his chest as he stood face-to-face with the man that had disappeared three months earlier. Lassiter wasn't sure what to do. What could he do? Ask him where he was? Ask him what had happened? Ask him if this was really a dream, or was this one of those stupid "visions" that Spencer frequently got and had somehow pulled Carlton into one?

"I've got no clue what's going on either, Lassie-face," Shawn suddenly sighed, as if reading Lassiter's mind. His green eyes were glinting unusually as he watched Lassiter try to form a coherent sentence. His mouth was moving, but no words were coming out. Shawn suddenly turned and began walking up the beach toward the buildings just past the boardwalk, but he stopped abruptly, turning around and pointing to Lassiter.

"_I'm serious about that puppy_."


	3. Chapter 3

Holy guacamole. This is getting pretty popular! -sniffle- I'm so happy to see so many e-mails from fanfiction in my Yahoo Inbox! You people have made me very happy. *^_^* See? Happy face!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, Head Psychic Shawn Spencer, or the television show Psych. I DO own Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head (for reasons you shall find out next chapter) and The-Fluffy-Puppy-Who-Shall-Be-Named-Next-Chapter. :)**

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Carlton was awake. He blinked and sat up, holding his head as a dull ache throbbed through it. When did he open his eyes? He didn't remember waking up. He was just...awake. He pushed the thought out of his head as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, silently cursing the blinds that let in the morning sun into his bedroom.

He glanced at his clock,and realized with a start that it was almost noon. Why wasn't he up sooner?! He jumped up and threw himself at his closet, scrambling to get his clothes on. Then, as he was pulling up his pants, he remembered why he woke up late.

Vicks told him not to come in. Carlton groaned and banged his head on his closet door, which did nothing for his headache. With a sigh, he finished getting dressed and shuffled into the kitchen, wanting his cup of coffee so he could function normally.

As he waited for the coffee to be heated up, his mind wandered to the dream he had the previous night. Why had he dreamed about Spencer? Was it really because he was getting too stressed out about his case? That had to be it. Why else would he dream about him?

He poured the coffee into his mug, slowly stirring in the cream and sugar to the exact amounts that he liked. He wasn't uptight, he suddenly thought. He was just...disciplined. Disciplined, _not _uptight.

_Is there really a difference?_ Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head piped up, sounding slightly distracted. Lassiter snorted into his coffee and frowned.

"Of course there is," he mumbled, taking a sip and savoring the sweetness. The coffee tasted...different this morning. Not necessarily bad, just...different. He shook it off and took another sip, walking over to his front door.

_Newspaper's here! _Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head seemed to be smiling. How could Lassiter know that? He just knew. He considered asking Voice how it (_He,_ Voice interjected) knew, but didn't. He didn't feel like talking at the moment.

Lassiter opened the door and frowned. The newspaper was not at his doorstep. He stepped out onto his porch, the frown on his face growing.

He noticed a trail of what looked suspiciously like the sports section of said paper. It looked like it had been chewed on, and was slightly shredded. Carlton ground his teeth as he saw that the trail led to his mailbox, where a small ball of fur was busy destroying his morning newspaper. It seemed to be tangled up in all of the shredded papers. He had a suspision of what the ball of fur was, and he was not happy.

"Hey!" he shouted. A head popped up from the ball of fur, and his suspision was confirmed.

_Awww! He's cute! I wonder what kind of breed he is._

"It's destroying my newspaper!" Lassiter grumbled as he stomped towards the small ball of fluff. Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head tutted at him.

_It __happens to be a __he__, and __he__ is having fun at the moment._ _So what if he's tearing up your newspaper? It's what puppies do._

Lassiter froze in mid-step.

.

**"**_**I'm serious about that puppy**_**." **

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"No..." he whispered out loud. It was coincidence. It had to be coincidence. Right? There was no way that Spencer in his dream knew that a puppy was going to eat his morning paper. It was a dream! Then again...maybe he did. Lassiter didn't believe in all that psychic mumbo-jumbo, but he could help but wonder if Spencer was right in his claim.

The puppy decided that he was done eating newspaper and trotted to Lassiter. It looked like a German Shepard, but there was something slightly off about it. Maybe a German Shepard mix? It had thick, chocolate brown fur that stuck out everywhere, but it's muzzle and face was a much lighter, almost peach color. It's ears stuck straight up, and it was panting happily. It's tail was wagging so hard that it's entire back end was moving back and forth.

_...You know you want to pet him._ Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head said. Lassiter snorted, kneeling down on his lawn. The puppy moved closer, watching Lassiter with it's green eyes. That struck him as odd. He'd never seen a dog with green eyes before. Defiantly a mixed breed then. He seemed friendly enough.

Lassiter slowly held out his hand, waiting for the puppy to sniff him and come a little closer so he could get it by the scruff of the neck and see if it had a collar. It's (_His! Get it right already!_) fur was so thick that he couldn't tell.

The puppy took a step closer, stretching out his neck and sniffing the tip of Lassiter's fingers. Lassiter lunged forward to grab the puppy. The puppy skirted backwards, causing Lassiter to fall on his face. It bent the front of it's body down in the universal dog sign for "Play with me!" as Lassiter glared at it and stood up.

"Arf!" the puppy barked. He hadn't stopped wagging his tail. Lassiter gritted his teeth and stomped toward the puppy, who in turn hopped away from him. Lassiter cursed loudly as he tried to catch the puppy, who danced circles around him. Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head wasn't helping, simply laughing as loud as he could.

Lassiter dove towards the puppy again, this time managing to scrape his hands on the path to his porch. The puppy barked again and ran towards his front door, which Lassiter forgot to close when he walked outside.

"No!" he shouted as the puppy ran inside, scrambling to get up. The door slammed shut as he ran to it, and he was astonished to hear a small click on the other side. His jaw dropped as he tried to turn the doorknob, which didn't budge.

The damn puppy locked him out of his own house!


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delay! This chapter is mainly dialogue, and I know that I could've done better (and I might edit it later) but I wanted to update. Next chapter will be another dream, and after that, the plot might actually show up. Exciting isn't it? There's a plot!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych, or any thing related. I just own this plot and the puppy dog.**

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Lassiter stared at his door, grinding his teeth and barely refraining from punching his door. He thought he was being smart, locking the door behind him no matter where he went. He didn't think that one day a stupid (_Not __**that **__stupid apparently_, Voice said smugly.) puppy would lock him out of his own bloody house! Said puppy was currently watching him through the blinds, his furry face panting and his paws on the window.

_Well you shouldn't have had your love seat so close to the door_, Voice snorted. Lassiter glared at the puppy, who disappeared from his window. Now, he _did _punch the door. Who _knew _what the thing was getting into...

_He's just looking around._

"Oh yeah? How do you know?" Lassiter grumbled as he scratched his head, trying to remember if he had any hidden keys that would let him back into his house. He didn't. The only spare keys he had was the spare key underneath his middle sofa cushion. He started fuming, pacing back and forth on his porch like a caged tiger. This was _not _turning out to be a good day for him.

_He's a puppy. Puppies are curious animals._

"Oh shut up," Lassiter snapped, continuing to pace. "That doesn't help me at all. How the hell am I supposed to get back inside?"

The puppy reappeared in his window. It tilted it's head, and seemed to be smirking.

_You could say please._

"What do you..." Lassiter trailed off, stopping in front of his door. It suddenly made sense. How Voice-In-The-Back-Of-His-Head knew the paper was there, everything.

"Are...Are you that...that thing?" Lassiter asked quietly and calmly, pointing to the puppy. Voice sighed, and the puppy's head drooped slightly.

_I'm hurt that you just referred to me as a "thing", but yes. I am that little dog in the window...Isn't that the name of a song or something?_

Lassiter stared at the door, the realization that he had been hearing a puppy's thoughts for the past three months finally sinking in. He turned around and sat down on his porch steps, his teeth clenched. So this was what it was like to be insane, he thought. He _had _to be insane. That was the only reasonable explanation for him to be hearing that stupid voice. That, or he had suddenly become psy...NO. He was going insane. That was that.

There was a click from behind him, and he heard his door creak open. The puppy slowly walked over to his side, his green eyes worried. He sat down next to Lassiter and nudged him with his head.

_Hey...You're not crazy,_ the Voice reassured softly. _I don't know how you're able to hear me, but I can assure you that you're one of the most sane people I've met in my life. Trust me. That's saying something. _

Lassiter snorted, keeping his eyes forward. If the dog was trying to make him feel better, it wasn't working.

_Maybe I can help you._

"Help me?" Lassiter asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the puppy next to him.

_Please? I __want__ to help you._

"Why? Why would you want to help me?"

_Why do you have to be so negative? No, don't answer that, _the puppy walked in front of Lassiter and put his paws on his knees, looking him in the eyes. If Lassiter wasn't so upset at losing his sanity he would've laughed at the serious expression on the young dog's face. He also noticed that the puppy's front legs were the same shade of peach it's face was.

_Listen Carlton. I have no clue why I'm here. I can only guess you need my help. So let me help you. My only other choice here is to be brought to the animal shelter and adopted off to someone else, and believe me, I don't want that to happen._

"Why not?" Lassiter asked, confused. "Someone else could give you a nice home and loving family. It'd be better than staying with me."

The puppy growled quietly, causing Lassiter to narrow his eyes.

_Because I know you, and you're the only one that can help me._

"Oh really? I thought you wanted to help me."

_I do, but in order to help __**you**__, you have to help __**me**__._

Lassiter watched as the puppy put his paws back on the ground and walked back around to his door. The puppy looked back at him.

_We need to talk._

He eyed the puppy wearily. Maybe when the thing fell asleep, he'd toss it in a box and drop it off at the animal shelter. He didn't finish working that plan out in his head because the puppy suddenly bristled, it's lips drawing back over it's teeth as a low growl rumbled through the air. He'd forgotten that the dog was inside his head.

Lassiter sighed, pulling himself to his feet. _I must've stumbled down a rabbit-hole and ended up in some kind of sick, twisted Wonderland_, he thought as he followed the large puppy into his house. The puppy sat down in front of his cork board, watching Lassiter with those green eyes as he sat down on his couch. There was silence as the two of them stared at each other, not breaking eye contact until the puppy asked a question.

_I guess I should start at the beginning. huh?_

.

One and a half hours later, Lassiter stared at the puppy as he finished his tale. And he concluded that he _must _be losing his mind. Or he had lost it a long time ago, and was just now starting to feel the effects of it. He cleared his throat.

"So, let me see if I got this right," he spoke slowly, still not quite believing that he was talking to a dog. "You used to be a human."

_Yes._

"But for some strange reason that you don't know, you suddenly became a dog."

_I __do__ know. I just...can't remember._

"Uh huh. You became a dog, with no memory of being a human, but are somehow regaining your memories little by little."

_Yep._

"And you somehow remember _me_, and have it stuck in your head that I can help you figure out why you became a dog in the first place." Lassiter finished. Now that he himself had repeated the dog's story, it sounded even more absurd than when the dog told him.

_Yes, _the puppy nodded.

"...And why me?" Lassiter asked. The puppy sighed.

_Because you're the only person who I remember for certain. __How__ I know you, I have no idea. I just do. And you're the head detective at the police department. That's gotta help somehow...right?_

Lassiter stared at the puppy, his eyes narrowed. He suddenly stood up, and walked to his room. He closed the door and locked it behind him before the puppy could follow. He could hear the puppy scratching at his door and his confused questions in the back of his head, but he ignored both as he sat down on his bed. How could he have fallen so far in such little time? Three months ago, he was the best detective Santa Barbra had to offer. Now, he could be locked out of his own house by a dog that claimed it used to be a human by using telepankackes or whatever it was called when you speak with your mind. Now, he had finally gone insane.

He laid back on his bed, ignoring the crack from his vertebrate as he did so. He stared at the ceiling, wondering how much it was to get a therapist. _No_, he thought. _Before I see a therapist, I need to get rid of the dog. I can't talk to anyone with commentary running through the back of my mind._

This thought was met by a sharp bark and an angry shout inside his head. Lassiter shouted in pain as his head throbbed angrily.

_Don't you __**DARE **__think about getting rid of me! I may not remember who I am, but I do remember this: __**YOU OWE ME CARLTON LASSITER. YOU **__**OWE**__** ME.**_

Lassiter's eyes were squeezed shut, and his teeth were clenched. It felt like someone (or something) was clawing his head apart. Then, as the pain started to fade, he realized that he wasn't lying on his back anymore. He was sitting up, in a comfortable office chair.

He cracked his eyes open, and his heart skipped a beat.

He wasn't in his room anymore. He was in a dimly lit office, sitting behind a desk. It was night. He was sitting parallel to the cluttered desk, facing someone. He faintly heard a muffled voice off to his side, and tried to turn his head to see who it was, but he couldn't move his head. His vision was incredibly blurry around the edges, but he could clearly make out the person standing in front of him.

**It was him.**

_"...Not the department. Me. And I can't pay you."_

The person off to his side made a muffled comment, and the him in front of him looked at the person.

_"I guess this could technically be called a...a favor."_

Lassiter's head turned on it's own accord to look at the person off to his side, but the image was simply a black splotch against the dim and blurry background. Then, his head began to ache. He wanted to clutch his head as the pain increased, but he couldn't move. His vision began to fade out, and his bedroom ceiling came back into view.

He laid there on his bed, panting slightly as the pain faded, leaving behind a dull throb. _What the hell was that?!_ he thought. Lassiter heard a whine nearby, and noticed that the puppy was sitting next to him on his bed. He sat up, holding his head and he gritted his teeth as he saw that his door was wide open. He shot a look at the puppy, who looked at him with concerned eyes.

_Are you alright?_

"How did you get in here?" he snapped, ignoring the worried voice in his head. The puppy nudged something with his paw. Lassiter narrowed his eyes as he recognized the spare key that he kept hidden.

"How did you find that?" he glared at the animal.

_I noticed that the middle cushion on your sofa was more indented than the others, which means that you sit on it all the time. People usually do things like that only when they're hiding something. So I looked under the cushion and found the key._

Lassiter glared at the puppy, before sighing and burying his face in his hands. What was going on? What he saw (he knew he didn't just _see _it. He was _in _it opposite himself) moments ago triggered his own memory of that scene, simply flipped.

_"...Not the department. Me. And I can't pay you." I said._

_"Well that sounds worth-while." Guster said. I looked at him and gave a tiny shrug._

_"I guess this could be technically called a...a favor."_

_I saw Spencer turned his head and look at Guster, an eyebrow raised in question. I knew he was thinking something up, and it slightly scared me as to what was going on in his head. I hated that I needed his help, but I needed it. Even if it __was__ to get my father-in-law to lighten up a little bit..._

Lassiter glanced at the puppy, who had migrated to the end of his bed and had curled up and had fallen asleep. A thought sprang up in his head, and he snorted out loud at the absurdity of it. So says the man that could hear the thoughts of a puppy dog.

"Is that you Spencer?" he whispered to the sleeping ball of fuzz. The dog didn't rise from it's slumber, and once again Carlton questioned his own all..._he was talking to a dog._ After a few more minutes, he realized that he was bone tired. The day's events must be catching up to him, he reasoned. Losing your sanity when it was really the only thing you had for a while really took it out of a guy. Taking off his clothes and pulling on his pajamas, and making sure that the dog was positioned on the furthest corner of his bed, he crawled underneath the covers and fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Warning! Very short chapter. Due to the shortness of this one, I promise on Chibi!AU!Eleven's TARDIS that the next chapter will be longer. Please bear with me, I'm desperately trying to focus on school (BLECH) because I'm failing the classes I need to be passing. (I have a very weak immune system! 'S not my fault! D:) This is another Lassie!Dream, and the plot gets going next chapter.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. ;_;

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Lassiter leaned against his desk, a tired smile finding it's way onto his face as he looked around the Chief's office..._his _office. This was more like it. This was going to be a good dream, he could already tell. No confusing beach scenes, no unexpected Spencer popping up; just a plaque that said 'Chief C. Lassiter' in a warmly painted office overlooking a busy police station. He felt a twinge of pride as he walked over to the windows that made up the walls of the office and saw that everyone was doing something.

"Nice place you got here, Lassie."

Lassiter visibly jumped at the voice behind him. He whirled around and growled out loud. Leaning back in his chair with his feet up on his desk, was Shawn Spencer. He was sipping on something that Lassiter recognized as a pineapple smoothie that he used to always order to the police station. He looked a little rough, with circles underneath his eyes that Lassiter didn't notice the last time he saw him. His hair also looked slightly longer, and he looked like he hadn't had a decent bath in a week.

"What are you doing here?!" Lassiter shouted. Shawn shrugged, taking another sip of his smoothie. He suddenly held the cup in front of his face, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Pineapple...That's what they called me..." he mumbled. Lassiter raised an eyebrow, confused. Then he remembered: the Shawn before him (and the puppy currently sleeping at the foot of his bed) had no clue who they were. Maybe that was why the puppy had sought him out. Maybe he _could _help.

"Listen," Lassiter said. Shawn lowered the smoothie and looked at him. "Does the name 'Shawn Spencer' mean anything to you?"

"Shawn Spencer..." Shawn mumbled, eyebrows furrowing again. Lassiter waited anxiously as Shawn closed his eyes, biting his lip in thought. After a few minutes Shawn shook his head.

"No. Why? Was that my name?" Shawn took his feet off of the desk and leaned forward, looking at Lassiter with hopeful eyes. Lassiter suddenly shook his head.

"No...Nevermind," Lassiter sighed. If he told him now, it wouldn't matter because he this was a dream, and Spencer was a puppy in real life. What could he do? Go to the Chief and say _**I've got good news and bad news Karen! Good news is that I've found Spencer! Bad news is that he's been turned into a dog! If you need me, I'll be with my therapist.**_

"Oh..." Shawn's face fell. Lassiter stood near the door, contemplating how he was going to say what he was thinking. He felt strange thinking it, and even stranger that he knew that he would have to go through with it. After all, he wasn't going to keep a stray puppy in his house.

"You know," he started carefully, "I'm going to have to bring you back to the animal shelter."

The effect of that simple sentence was dramatic. Shawn's eyes snapped up to meet Lassiter's, the green seeming to glint harshly. He seemed to visibly bristle, his hair standing up slightly. So Lassiter wasn't imagining things. Shawn really _was _the puppy.

"What?" Shawn growled.

"If you're going to stay with me, you're going to have to be properly adopted. Not some stray who doesn't have it's shots and what-not."

"I can't believe you just said 'What-not'," Shawn seemed to relax a little. He sipped his smoothie and snorted. "By the way, I already _have _all my shots."

Lassiter watched with a raised eyebrow as Spencer stood up and stretched, keeping his smoothie in hand. He meandered over to Lassiter and handed him his smoothie with a smile. Lassiter couldn't help but notice that as well as looking like a homeless man, he smelled like one too.

"Tomorrow morning we go and visit the animal shelter. Alright?" Lassiter said. Shawn looked a little uneasy at the mention of the animal shelter, but he nodded. The uncertainty was gone in a second, for he flashed an easy-going smile.

"Right. And now, I'm going to go and wander off. See you in the morning Lassie!" Shawn placed his smoothie in Lassiter's hand, and left the office. Lassiter simply watched him leave the police station with a raised eyebrow. Where was he going? And why did everyone in the room not notice the man that had been missing for three months simply waltz by them?

Lassiter sighed and shook his head. He would deal with the amnesiac man/puppy in the morning...


End file.
